


can we pretend airplanes are shooting stars

by dreamss



Series: the walmart dairy aisle [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Britain, Crying, Kissing, M/M, Walmart, dairy aisle, read the first fic, semi serious? part two of a crackfic so its really not honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:06:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25987132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamss/pseuds/dreamss
Summary: Initially, Dream never intended for this to happen.George stood in front of him. "Well?" He says.There's no way this is happening, Dream thinks, no fucking way.All he wanted was to get some ice cream in a Walmart. Was that too much to ask for?part two of I could really use a wish right now, wish right now
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: the walmart dairy aisle [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1886089
Comments: 18
Kudos: 78





	can we pretend airplanes are shooting stars

**Author's Note:**

> please note: i do not ship real people. this is entirely a joke. do not take this seriously.
> 
> i do not condone the shipping of real people :)

Walking down the stairs, Dream exits the airplane. He had just landed in the UK; he was here on a family emergency. An aunt of his had just fallen victim to COVID-19, and, due to her old age, is currently hospitalized.

He enters the main lobby — and, wow, that’s a lot of people. Things don’t look much different from the US. The airport looked slightly worse from the American one he was in eight hours prior, but that might just be his bias. Hundreds of people are in the main lobby, sitting in chairs or walking between shops. Everybody has a mask on.

It seems everybody here is smarter, Dream thinks. He hurriedly walks past a family of three and looks for the exit. Damn, this place was big.

He didn’t tell George he was coming here. He really didn’t see the point in it. It’s not like Dream is going to stay in the UK for more than a couple days — hell, he’s only talked to his aunt once or twice at the occasional family gathering. Who cares about some old lady, anyway?

It had cost him a lot of money to get here, too. So much fucking money. Like, a lot of money for some half-dead woman.

The cold metal chills his hand as he pushes the final door open into the night. If one thing was for sure, it was that Britain is certainly colder than America.

Honestly, he might call the other boy. Dream doesn’t know where he lives — why would he? — and they might run into each other. _It’d be pretty funny if we did. It’d be like those shitty fanfics._

People chatter behind them. It’s so different from America, everybody has an accent. It grates on his eardrums.

He exhales and looks down. Cracks litter the sidewalk he’s walking on. Distantly, his stomach hurts a little. He’s kind of hungry. Ice cream sounds good right now; maybe he and George can eat ice cream together. _Yes! Ice cream! Wait, does George even like ice cream?_

If George didn’t like ice cream they might have to stop being friends. Him being British is already one bad quality, but another? No, Dream wouldn’t associate himself with somebody like that.

A scowl finds its way on his face. _What the fuck is wrong with British people?_

He honestly can’t believe he would be friends with a British person. Just those two words in the same sentence is enough to make his stomach coil — or, wait, he’s just hungry.

_Right.. food._

Blowing air out his mouth, he tips his head up to the night sky. It’s cloudy and no stars shine down on him. A Walmart sign sticks over the lip of a building, though.

 _Walmart has ice cream, I could get some there._ He decided to go through with that plan and made his way toward the sign. People walk past him when he pauses at a stoplight — it seems most people walk in Britain instead of driving. Stupid fucking British people. Learn to drive, Jesus Christ.

Concrete is all he sees while walking through the city. The Walmart is still in view, but he learns that Britain is exceedingly ugly. Just like it’s civilians.

There are no real decorations and it’s mostly just stoplights and dead things. Dead trees, dead grass, dead flowers; why is it so cold?

He arrives at the retail store in about twenty minutes. Two big double doors stare at him — if he focuses hard enough, he can read the signs inside. A couple walks by him, giggling. Dream watches the two walk into the building. Setting his jaw, he pushes the door open and speedwalks through the entrance.

The store is disorientating, and nothing like the Walmarts in Florida. The windowless building almost feels like a maze.

_Where the fuck was the icecream?_

Flashy corporate food labels that Dream doesn’t recognize line the shelves, making it almost impossible for him to distinguish anything in the assortments of foods and drinks.

“This is a nightmare, how does anyone shop here?” he mutters under his breath, making sure not to offend any of the British plebs surrounding him. Ice cream — right — he was going to buy ice cream. Dream’s mouth starts salivating as he reads the signs above the aisles until he landed on it, the ice cream freezer aisle. Fucking poggers, he was getting fed tonight.

He makes his way through the sea of smelly locals and linoleum aisles he knows he could very much get lost in until finally, it’s in front of him, the ice cream aisle. Dream is ecstatic, he could not wait to thrust the deliciously inviting smooth and creamy substance down his esophagus.

He hears a fridge open from behind him and glances around. A short boy with brown hair is shoving his entire body into a fridge. _Wow, that’s kind of hot._ The boy turns around, his pale skin tinted red from the cold.

Dream’s eyes widen by a fraction and he does a double-take.

_Is that fucking George?_

Donned in a hoodie, the shorter boy smiles at Dream and he panics and turns around to open a fridge door. The cold hits him like a tidal wave; he wastes no time and grabs whatever is in front of him and sprints around the corner, closing the door with his hip.

His back _thuds!_ against the shelf behind him, clutching the tub of ice cream to his chest. He wheezes and stares at the floor under him. Linoleum tiles stare back.

Why is George here? Of all places in Britain, his aunt just had to live in the same area as George. Dream doesn’t even know if it was him he saw, but he was about fifty percent sure it was. _Should I look back? It’s not like he knows what I look like. I just can’t let him know what I sound like._

Tentatively, he peeks his head around a chip bag like a scared dog. Something pats his arm and Dream flings his body around with wide eyes; his grip on the ice cream tightening. Sweat trickles down his forehead.

“Hey, dude… are you a frame renderer? ‘Cause you’re opti-fine.” George says. His hand is still resting on Dream’s arm. The blonde’s eyes widen momentarily because _how did he know he liked Minecraft? Does he know-_

He looks down; right, he’s wearing… his own hoodie. A silly smiley face is crudely drawn across the front. Looking back up at George, he still hasn’t calmed down. Dream probably looks like a psychopath. What’s he supposed to do?

The pale boy has a slight blush stained on his cheeks. It’s just been silence so far because Dream doesn’t want to reveal himself. He straightens his back from where he was hunched over and relaxes his face. George looks like he’s about to explode.

Wait — he’s got this! All he has to do is make his voice deeper and he’ll never know a thing. Mentally, he pumps his fist. _Yes!_

Dream raises a hand to his face to clear his throat and George stops messing with the hem of his shirt. He opens his mouth and says in the most monotone voice: “Hey, George.”

A pause.

_...Hang on-_

Both boys stare at each other, listless looks on their faces. Dream smiles because he doesn’t know what to do and George follows. The brown-haired boy raises a hand, “...Uh.”

“Wanna make out?” He blurts. Dream just shakes his head a little in disbelief, his smile falling.

“Er… okay.”

What the fuck is going on? George’s hand grips his shirt and he’s being pulled down to his level. Dream has to hang on to the ice cream with one hand and set the other on George’s shoulder. His breath is hot against his lips.

Their lips smash together and neither of them move. They don’t budge an inch for an entire minute. It’s just uncomfortable, honestly. Dream can’t keep it together and separates. “George-” “Dream-”

Both of them talk at the same time. George’s mouth is set in a firm line. Dream’s eyebrows furrow. A child walks by and looks at them in horror.

He sighs. “You know, this just isn’t going to work out, George.” Tears swell in his eyes, “I’m in love with somebody else.” George gasps and takes a step back.

Rubbing an arm across his face, he looks at the ceiling. The taller boy smiles and looks back down, “It’s Walmart, George. I’m in love with Walmart.” Covering his mouth with his hands, the other boy has tears streaming down his face. After a moment of just watching each other, tears spill out Dream’s eyes, too.

“Dream, I-” Just hearing George’s British accent makes him want to throw up. He sprints the other direction, chucking the ice cream tub at George’s face. Distantly, he makes a choked sound, but Dream is already halfway to the exit.

He emerges out the door and slows down to a jog. The cool air ruffles his hair and his phone buzzes in his pocket. Standing in the Walmart parking lot, the boy opens his phone to see a text from his other friend.

(3:26 A.M.) _**Eret**_ :

It was never meant to be.


End file.
